A Twisted Vengeance

3 A City on the Edge

The master began the guild meeting with a reading of the orders from Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, who was governing the realm on behalf of his nephew King Richard, while he was away on the Irish campaign. There was much repetition of “for the common good” and an emphasis on the importance of the city of York in the north. An influx of knights and armed men was not to anyone’s liking, yet their presence and the fortification of the walls provided a sense of control in such troubled times, so the merchants in the hall were largely quiet during the reading. But Lille and Ghent, sitting at Kate’s feet, stayed alert, sensing tension in the hall. And, though Kate realized the events of the morning had heightened her feeling of impending danger, the widespread frowns, guarded glances at neighbors, and postures gave witness to the growing agitation in the room. Once the clerk had read the orders, the guild master invited suggestions as to how the guild might support the defense efforts.

Kate had purposely taken a seat beside her neighbor Thomas Holme at the very end of a row of current and former aldermen. More unusual behavior – his custom was to sit toward the front of the room and never with this group. She might have been worried that she’d somehow offended him, but he’d greeted her with courtesy, asking about the barking of the dogs in the night. She’d hoped that he might have noticed something, but he had not.

“Poor Sister Dina,” he said. “I am glad that she sought safety at our parish church. I am not surprised that Magistra Matilda has stepped forward to help. As I told you, she grew fond of Dina in the short time the sisters lived at the maison dieu. Matilda fussed over the young woman, seeing how she jumped at every noise and avoided attention.” Thomas had founded the maison dieu beside the parish church on Castlegate years ago, and it had been at his generous invitation that the sisters had resided there for a brief time after arriving in York.

“I wish I knew whether Dina has cause to be so wary, or whether it is simply her nature,” said Kate.

“That was one of Magistra Matilda’s concerns,” said Thomas. “She asked whether Dame Eleanor knew the backgrounds of the three women, whether she had ensured they were appropriately devout or simply escaping unhappy or unsatisfying lives. Or worse.”

“Why worse?”

“It is her nature. Magistra Matilda is a formidable interrogator when considering a fresh recruit. She suspects that your mother simply stepped into one of the beguine communities, clapped her hands, and asked if anyone would like to accompany her to York.”

Though it was an apt depiction of her mother’s tendency to make hasty, careless decisions, Kate said, “It is my understanding that the sisters had undergone careful scrutiny in order to be accepted in their beguinage in Strasbourg.”

“To be sure. But Magistra Matilda does not approve of beguines. She has heard that the sisters might leave at any time to marry, and that some are permitted to return after having children – apostates in Magistra Matilda’s opinion. You recall how she insisted that Sister Brigida be accompanied by one of the other sisters when escorting your wards to the Frost household for lessons. Her lay order observes stricter rules.” He shrugged. “I believe her dislike of beguines arises from her dislike of anything never encountered in York.”

“Sister Clara says Matilda referred to them as the Saxon Lollards.”

Thomas gave a surprised laugh. “I’ve no doubt.”

“They follow the teachings of Meister Eckhart, I am told.” A Dominican scholar and philosopher who had taught in Strasbourg. “From what I have heard, his interpretation of Christ’s message lacks the darkness and asceticism of Magistra Matilda’s religion.”

“If they shared that with Magistra Matilda, it is no wonder she did not trust their devotion. Eckhart was denounced as a heretic.”

“I rather like what I’ve heard.”

“Never say that in the presence of Magistra Matilda.” He shook his head. “So what did Sister Dina have to say about her ordeal?”

“Nothing. Whatever happened, it has silenced her.” For the moment. Kate prayed that might be only temporary.

Each in the crowd seemed to have their own purpose in attending – to share unease about the growing military presence, to gossip, to complain. One guild member after another stood to recite stories of ships sighted in the mists along the coast of the North Sea and gangs of armed men on the roads, all heading north. There were those who believed Ravenspur had been the obvious landing place. No, no, more likely Bridlington. Ravenspur had no quay, the town had been largely abandoned as the sea encroached on the land. It must be Bridlington. More came round to that conclusion as their fellows listed the salient amenities: no castle to guard it, a quay at which to disembark and unload, and a town in which horses and men might find food and shelter as they awaited their exiled leader’s arrival from France.

“Dull-pated asses. Ravenspur or Bridlington, Bridlington or Ravenspur,” Thomas Holme muttered. “What matters is he’s landed in the north and he’s” – a glance at Kate, a cough – “too close to allow us to remain neutral. We know his ships paused at Cromer in Norfolk to take on supplies and more men. That is what we know.”

They knew now. There had been rumors of a landing in the southeast, at Pevensey, Sussex. Edmund, Duke of York, had gone to its defense only to discover there was no need, and that some of Henry’s ships had instead landed at Cromer, a Lancastrian estate in Norfolk, to take on supplies. The Lancastrian supporters had cleverly spread a misleading rumor.

Someone reported rumors that soldiers were heading west from Bridlington. Down the row, someone whispered, “Knaresborough. They have heard?”

Knaresborough. Had Henry of Lancaster already come so far inland? Kate was paying close attention to who spoke up, who kept a guarded silence, ordering them in her mind as to who was likely to side with King Richard or Henry of Lancaster – for that was the other matter stealing into the sharing, whether the city was wise to side with the king. “The king has not been so friendly of late.” That sent a ripple of consent down the row. Were the worthies of York secretly supporting the duke rather than the king?

All were agreed about who had landed, and most seemed quite certain as to Henry of Lancaster’s intention. Even before the arrival of the royal messenger, no one had doubted that he had come to claim the Lancastrian inheritance that his cousin, King Richard, had declared forfeit. The orders from Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, to raise troops and make repairs to the city defenses in preparation for war had merely verified the rumors.

“But Edmund of Langley is fond of his nephew Henry. If it comes to choosing sides …” Thomas Graa muttered with a shake of his head. Kate was glad of his low, easily distinguished voice. One of the wealthiest merchants in York, Graa knew the royal family, and his opinion mattered in the city. He had served the city as mayor, councilman, and, most recently, chamberlain, as well as representing York as a member of Parliament.

The guild master attempted to move on from what he clearly considered unnecessary chatter, reminding the guild members that he’d summoned them in order to discuss tactics for defense. Regardless of whether or not one welcomed Henry of Lancaster’s return, civil war was bad news for merchants, dangerous for both land and sea commerce, potentially destroying long-held trade agreements, indeed all manner of treaties. If the conflict resolved quickly, it would be a mere inconvenience. But it was anyone’s guess how King Richard would respond, his changeable moods and emotional outbursts impossible to predict. Experience had taught them to step warily with the king’s representatives. Many in the crowd would find any slowdown in trade particularly difficult to endure because of heavy fines levied on select guild members in recent years; King Richard’s tax collectors coyly referred to them as loans, but they were plainly punitive measures for those merchants targeted for their support of the barons critical of the king. Considering the circumstances, Kate regarded the king’s recent levies as poorly timed now that he needed the support of the realm against the returning exile.

The meeting dragged on, everyone with any opinion whatsoever determined to have his say. Though they had begun in the cool of early morning, the sun had now risen over the rooftops and the hall grew hot enough to ripen the crowd, who had dressed to impress rather than accommodate the July heat. They grew restless and querulous. Kate herself fought drowsiness, her mind wandering back to the morning’s events and her ever-growing list of questions.

“Nonsense,” Holme muttered, pulling Kate’s mind back to the guildhall.

One of the younger guild members was defending his theory that King Richard had not actually set sail for Ireland but was using the story to lure Henry of Lancaster into a trap. His pronouncement was greeted by shrugs, shakes of the head, raised brows, whispers. A few wondered aloud whether “the lad had lost his wits.”

Kate considered the idea. It would be a clever move. Subtle. Too subtle for the king? The consensus seemed to be that King Richard did not listen to others, that he was far too confident, believing that God protected the anointed sovereign from all who would challenge his right to rule.

Was that Duke Henry’s intention? To remove his cousin and be crowned King Henry in his stead? If anyone might succeed in such an effort, it would be him. The Lancastrian inheritance, when added to his wealth as Duke of Hereford, would make him the most powerful baron by far – that is, if he could wrest those lands and coffers back from the hands of the king’s favorites. It all depended on how many stewards and retainers had shifted their loyalty from Lancaster to the king.

The present discussion predictably fell apart as soon as the guild master broached the subject of actively helping to arm and defend the city. Few members of the merchant guild had ever ridden to war, and their experience with weaponry was limited to hunting or defending themselves in dark alleyways. Kate occasionally joined them on St. George’s Field to practice at the butts and knew how few of their arrows ever hit the mark. The city’s defense was quickly deemed the business of the sheriffs and the knights and esquires already summoned, and the discussion dissolved into a despairing account of how many able bodies the king had taken with him to Ireland – or wherever he lay in wait for his cousin. And the influx of armed strangers into the city, men no one might personally vouch for. If they caused trouble, to whom did the citizens take their complaint?

“It is our misfortune that Duke Henry’s power lies in the north,” Thomas Holme grumbled as he and Kate stepped out into the bright July morning. “We will bear the brunt of this, while our London colleagues will hardly be inconvenienced.”

Kate agreed and silently cursed her luck. She was so close to digging out from beneath Simon’s heavy debts – a few more shiploads of precious spices, added to a lease agreement her cousin William Frost was negotiating for her on the family property she had inherited in Northumberland, and she would be clear of that burden. But if her ships were seized, or if William’s lawyer met trouble on the road north and failed to complete the negotiations, the liberation she so yearned for would be delayed.

“There are rumors that Duke Henry is already in Knaresborough, and he’s making promises that only a king has the power to keep. What of that?” a man said to his companion as he passed. His companion hushed him.

Knaresborough again. “Have you heard that rumor, Thomas?” When he feigned confusion, she repeated what she’d just overheard.

“Juicy gossip, that is all it is. Meant to impress his companion.”

That is not how it had seemed in the guildhall when his companions had whispered among themselves at mention of Knaresborough. “Perhaps it is time to move our business south, eh?” she teased, patting Thomas’s arm. She took care to appear confident and at ease, even with her partners. Few knew the enormity of the debt she’d discovered on Simon’s death, and she meant to keep it secret.

“Trading through London, eh? I pray it does not come to that.”

She tried a different tactic. Thomas had a troubled history with King Richard; a member of Parliament when it moved against the king years ago, he had been pardoned, yet the king retaliated still with fines and the searching of Thomas’s ships. “We might all be better off to welcome Duke Henry, truth be told.”

Thomas grunted. “I might agree but that I fear what fate would befall our king if Duke Henry takes the crown. I do not wish him dead, merely chastised. A near victory that frightens him into a more reasonable sovereignty. Ah, look – in the shade of the tree outside the gate.” He motioned with his head. “Your knight awaits you, Katherine.”

Just a trick to change the subject? She shaded her eyes against the glare of the mid-morning sun. No, it was true, Sir Elric stood just outside the gate, his eyes on the departing throng. Sir Elric was captain of the company of retainers stationed at Sheriff Hutton Castle, one of the properties of Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmoreland. It lay north of York in the Forest of Galtres; the earl used it as a base from which to keep an eye on York and the temper of the citizens. The earl had set Sir Elric on Kate for two reasons – to engage her as a spy among the York merchants, and to retrieve certain letters he believed to be in her possession, letters incriminating him as supporting both King Richard and Henry of Lancaster, a double deceit. Ralph Neville called on her as kin – he was the patriarch of her late husband’s family. Regarding the spying, she obliged him, though only so far, careful what she shared about her fellow merchants. But as for the letters, she had never admitted to possessing them. A lie of omission. They had fallen into her possession as a result of his treasonous manipulations, and should he ever dare threaten her or her family, she would use them to ruin him. “My knight. Hardly!”

Thomas chuckled. “My wife envies you his attentions. She tells me that not only is Sir Elric most pleasing to the eye, but as he is one of Ralph Neville’s favorite retainers, he will go far – even farther if the Earl of Westmoreland chooses the right side in this conflict. And as you are the widow of a Neville …”

“God’s blood, she has played out the wooing all the way to my becoming a lady?” Kate laughed. “She would be disappointed to hear our conversations. We are swordsmen on the field, dancing round each other, waiting to see who attacks first. A mutual distrust.”

“I’ve no doubt. But she believes the king holds court like Arthur of old, and that every knight is noble and pure.” He bent over to stroke Ghent’s proud head. Thomas had a great affection for the wolfhounds. But at the moment the petting was a ruse to lean close and whisper, “Look how Sir Elric studies the crowd. I pray he is not after information about your trading partners. Or your customers.” Thomas was a regular client at Kate’s guesthouse on High Petergate.

“You need not worry on either count.” Sir Elric knew how she used the house when it was not occupied by important visitors to the minster, but he had no interest in exposing either Kate or her clients. The wealthy lovers of York were safe with him. Or so he said. So far. “But why he stands there, waiting, I cannot guess.”

“Perhaps he wishes to ask you about the knights Sir Alan Bennet is gathering in your house on High Petergate? Or your mother’s sudden return from Strasbourg?”

“I pray it is neither.”

Thomas seemed deaf to her distress. “Considering what we have just discussed in the hall, who could fault him? How do we know that Sir Alan is not bringing in comrades hostile to King Richard?”

Would Elric care about that? Kate wondered. She believed his lord to be ready to support Duke Henry. Thomas, too, truth be told. And the cronies with whom he had chosen to sit at the meeting, all current or former aldermen of York as well as past mayors. She wondered about the current mayor.

“No one is to be trusted, or so it seems to me,” Thomas continued, chattering on as if relieving a pent-up need to express himself. “And we’ve no idea whether Duke Henry had connections in Strasbourg, but as you recall the king’s men searched all ships known to be carrying cargo from that fair city. Sir Elric might wonder whether your mother is here on Duke Henry’s behalf.”

If that were so, Elric would likely consider Dame Eleanor an ally. But he had given no sign of that. “Nonsense,” said Kate, pretending a confidence she lacked. For she still had no idea why her mother was in York. When she’d departed the city six years earlier to begin life anew in Strasbourg with her second husband, Ulrich Smit, Eleanor had sworn never to return, that she was finished with the land of her birth. That, too, had been done in haste – Kate’s father, David, was only a few months buried. But seeing them together, Kate had guessed that her mother and Ulrich had been lovers a long while. He’d been one of her father’s trading partners and a frequent guest in their home in Northumberland, on the border with Scotland. When Eleanor returned in April, a widow once more, her plans had been made in such haste that she arrived before the letter announcing her return. Again, her husband was only a few months buried. A pattern, and one that raised questions in everyone’s minds.

Eleanor had brushed off all Kate’s questions about her hasty return, saying she had been inspired to found a beguine house, or Martha House, to serve the poor, the ill, and educate young women in York. No matter that there were already a number of small houses serving the poor and ill in York, as well as grammar schools that accepted girls; Eleanor claimed that the beguine houses of Strasbourg were a step above what York offered, both for the women and the community. Her mother had no talent for diplomacy. But she was exceptionally skilled at evading questions.

Though Kate assured Thomas that he had nothing to fear from Sir Elric, she did not trust the knight. And she very much dreaded his appearance at this particular moment. His men watched her home, as if Elric knew not to trust that she kept him informed of all she knew. What might he make of last night’s misadventure? How might he twist it to further his earl’s interests? “Might I be of use concerning Sister Dina?” Thomas asked. “Perhaps speak with Magistra Matilda about what she might know?”

“Bless you. She would be more willing to speak with you, her benefactor, than she is with me.”

“Dame Katherine, Master Thomas.” Sir Elric joined Kate and her partner as they passed through the gate.

“Good day to you, Sir Elric, Katherine.” Thomas Holme nodded to each in turn. He leaned over to scratch the hounds once more behind their ears, then strode away down the street, hastening to join Thomas Graa and, to Kate’s surprise, her cousin William Frost, who had not attended the meeting. How she would love to follow, see where they were headed. The council chambers on Ouse Bridge? Something appeared to be brewing among the ruling elite of York. But they would notice her trailing them no doubt, and lead her astray. And, of course, she now had Sir Elric in tow.

“The hounds are accustomed to him,” Sir Elric noted.

“They are grateful for the run of Thomas’s river gardens.” Kate laughed at the knight’s expression. “Never underestimate the intelligence of a wolfhound.”

“I will remember that, Dame Katherine.”

“You would be wise to do so.”

“Such grim faces exiting the guildhall. Is there trouble?”

“Just the small matter of the Duke of York’s orders to hold the city against Henry of Lancaster. The effect this turmoil will have on trade. The influx of armed strangers into the city. By the saints, the exile’s return affects us all.” She softened her irritated response with a quick, false smile. “You waited patiently for us to adjourn. Your mission must be important?”

“You are right, of course. Duke Henry’s movements are uppermost in all our minds. In truth, I was curious about this meeting.”

“I applaud your honesty. And now you know all. Forgive me, but I must be off – I was to meet with Griselde and Clement this morning, and this meeting went on so long. I despaired at the long-windedness of my fellows. It takes a great deal of hot air to dance around responsibility for the city’s safety.”

“Might I walk with you?”

She hesitated, distrusting his intent. He had searched her room for the incriminating letters when her family was in crisis, and she hated him for that. But it was a mark of her ambivalence about him, a grudging respect, that she did not think it at all likely that last night’s intruder was one of his men. And he might be useful. She might learn something more about Knaresborough and Duke Henry’s movements. “Of course.”

She snapped her fingers at Lille and Ghent, who had settled in the shade at her feet.

As the four set off up Fossgate, a group of soldiers made way for them. There were more and more of Elric’s kind on the streets, swords and daggers bristling. The people of York already had enough of them, drinking, brawling, crowding the city, many encamped on Toft Green across the river, beside the Dominican friary.

Across the river. Kate thought about the small boat Berend had noticed, left on the bank just opposite the staithe.

Another group of soldiers veered to the left of Lille.

“I am glad you go about with the wolfhounds,” said Elric. “A man would be a fool to bother a woman flanked by them.”

She smiled to herself. “They are good companions.” And for the fools, she had a dagger and, occasionally, a small battle-axe concealed in her skirts. She overheard one of the men as he glanced back, “War hounds. Should be handed over to those defending the city.”

Elric stopped, turned, called out to the man to watch himself.

“Do not antagonize them,” Kate hissed. She tightened her hold on the leads and hurried on. Another worry, though she could not quite imagine how anyone would take Lille and Ghent by surprise. They were too well-trained and experienced. Still, she would tell the household of the man’s comments so they knew to be on their guard.

“Has the duke come to claim his Lancastrian inheritance, or the crown?” she asked to distract herself when Elric fell in beside her again.

“In truth, I would not be so bold as to try to fathom his purpose,” he said.

Sensing Lille’s discomfort with the knight’s nearness, Kate stroked her to reassure her.

“Dame Katherine,” an acquaintance called, stepping past a group of soldiers slowly walking past Kate, eyeing the hounds. “How glad you must be to have your mother returned to York after her journey north. With soldiers on the road, you must have worried for her.” Her mother had traveled to Northumberland to meet with the steward of the family estate and hold a formal requiem for her son Walter, Kate’s eldest brother, Petra’s father. Kate had told no one of her mother’s journey, yet everyone in the city seemed to know of it. He turned a knowing glance at the armed men, then leaned close to say, “Your knight watches over you, I see.” And they all noticed the knight who shadowed Kate as well.

She followed his gaze and saw Sir Elric had his hand on the hilt of his sword. Like Thomas’s wife, this man would have the two of them wed within hours. A widow with three wards, surely she would happily give her hand to such a fine knight.

“Yes, I am most grateful for Dame Eleanor’s safe return,” she said. “As for Sir Elric, I cannot guess what is in his mind, for clearly you had already come to my assistance.”

The compliment quieted the gossip in the man, and he moved on, no doubt shaping the tale of his heroism for his friends at the tavern.

She noticed how people greeted her, but hurried on without returning Elric’s nods. It was no wonder. In the cause of holding York for King Richard, the citizens bore the strain of hosting an unruly lot. The sheriffs could not very well challenge the soldiers on carrying arms in the city when they were there to defend it. She cursed both the king and his belligerent cousin for bringing such danger to these shores. Ahead, another small clutch of soldiers gathered round two young women who were prettily gesturing about something. How lighthearted they seemed, so free of all cares, though both were older than Kate had been when she married Simon. She could not recall ever feeling so free. From childhood she had been taught to be vigilant, ever ready for trouble. She wondered what it must be like to be them.

“Were you ever so unguarded?” Elric asked, startling her. He was regarding her with interest.

“Growing up on the border? No. Never.” She shrugged and changed the topic. “Are your men part of the force defending York for the king?”

“My earl’s interests are farther north. Raby.”

“Not Knaresborough?” she teased, immediately regretting it for fear he would take her tone as flirtatious.

But he walked on in silence.

Near the Shambles, the dogs grew restive, the stench of the butcher shops a fascination. She often indulged Lille and Ghent with a detour. It was rare that one of the butchers did not offer them a treat. But on this summer morning the odor was too unpleasant, moving her to take a perfumed cloth from her scrip and hold it to her nose.

Still Elric said nothing. What had been his purpose in joining her? His men might have witnessed whatever happened to Dina. Then why did he not mention it? Might he be spying on her for someone else?

As they passed into Colliergate, he bent to retrieve a package dropped by a young woman who was all giggles and smiles and gushing gratitude. No wonder – he was a handsome man, broad-shouldered, with a face that might be beautiful were it not a mirror for his self-delight. But perhaps most enticing on first meeting was a sense of coiled danger that had at first excited Kate, but now, with familiarity, worried her. He knew so much about her – her brother-in-law Lionel would have shared with him the content of Simon’s will and the extent of his debts; he could so easily ruin her. Still, if her life had been different, she might have been the one flirting with him for the thrill of catching his eye, inspiring a smile. He bowed to the woman, who blushed prettily as she bobbed her head at Elric, then Kate, and hurried on.

“Do you envy the city bred – pampered, protected, growing up so innocent of the shadows?” Elric asked.

Now twice he had read her mind. “I prefer to face life with my eyes wide open.”

He grinned. “I like that about you.”

She laughed to hide her confusion. They moved on.

Kate wished she knew where his spies in the city lodged. Watching her house as they did on their rounds, one of them might have seen someone stealing about the area in the early morning, might provide some clue as to who had intruded, and why. For it was quite likely that Sister Dina would be unable to identify the intruder – in the dark, in her fear, knowing so few people in York.

Unless someone had followed the group from Strasbourg? Kate shook that thought away.

The street had narrowed into Low Petergate, and the traffic thickened. Up ahead Kate noticed Drusilla Seaton approaching, a confidante, a widow who frequented the guesthouse with Kate’s cousin William Frost. Eyeing Sir Elric with apparent amusement, the widow Seaton nodded to him as she greeted Kate with a kiss and a hug, whispering, “Is anything amiss that you are in the company of Westmoreland’s creature? Shall I fetch Berend? I saw him calling on the knights in your lease on High Petergate.”

That was good to know. Kate smiled and assured her that they merely happened to be walking in the same direction.

“I trust you attended the guild meeting? Was anything decided?” The widow fanned herself with an embroidered cloth that perfumed the air with lavender while she stole glances at Elric.

“In their wisdom, the merchants chose to leave the defense of the city in the hands of the knights and their men. Or perhaps they simply could not bear sitting in that stifling hall one more moment,” said Kate.

“No surprises then. Ah me.” Drusilla nodded to Sir Elric, scratched Lille’s ear, then Ghent’s, and strolled off.

“I feared this would come to pass,” Kate said, “that Henry would take advantage of the king’s ill-advised departure for Ireland with his army. Either way, to claim the duchy of Lancaster as his inheritance or the crown of England, the duke is inciting civil war. We will all suffer.”

“You will be safe within the walls of the city,” Elric assured her.

“The Duke of York is not so sanguine about our safety.”

Elric paused just before the crossing with Stonegate, clearing his throat. “I believe the threat of a siege is past. For now.”

“Then it is true Duke Henry is already in Knaresborough?”

“Please, Katherine, take no risks. And keep the wolfhounds with you at all times.”

That comes from the heart, her twin whispered in her mind. Beware.

Quiet, Geoff.

She met Elric’s gaze for a moment, seeing in his eyes more warmth than usual. Far more warmth. “Have you spoken with your men this morning? The ones who watch my house at night?”

“No. I came straight to the guildhall. Why? Was there trouble?”

Was that a slight flinch? She could not be sure. “One of the beguines … It must have been a bad dream.”

He bowed to her.

“Have a care, Elric.”

He reached out as she began to move on, a strong grip on her arm. “About the letters …”

She laughed with relief. Back to their usual tussle.

But he was not laughing. “It is life or death now.”

“It is immaterial now,” she said. Lille growled. Kate hushed her with a touch. “Your warning me means that you’re about to ride north in the earl’s company. I assume to welcome Henry and offer him your support. A letter, letters – it means nothing now. By the earl’s actions shall he be judged.” Not by evidence that he’d spied on both sides, she added silently.

He met her comments with a blank stare.

She shook off his hand and crossed Stonegate into High Petergate. He followed. She paused in front of the guesthouse. “I do not wish you harm, Elric. I will tell no one what I have guessed. Good day to you, and Godspeed.”

“I am not departing York quite yet,” he said quietly, turning on his heels and striding off toward Bootham Bar.

Kate bent to slip the leads out of the hounds’ collars, letting them precede her to the door of the guesthouse. She looked forward to some ale – it had been quite a day, and it was not yet noon.

In the heat of late morning Dame Eleanor commended Nan and Sister Agnes on their work in the kitchen and adjoining bedchamber. The pooled blood had been mopped up and the stains covered with rushes, Dina’s bedding changed, the stained linen tidily folded in readiness for the laundrywoman.

“Go back to the house. Lie down and rest awhile,” Eleanor suggested.

She opened the shutters and the door in the kitchen, and sat just outside the entrance spinning and keeping watch, while the heat soaked up the dampness from the scrubbing.

When Sister Clara’s gentle shake wakened her, Eleanor silently berated herself for falling asleep. Anyone might have strolled right past her and into the kitchen or the house across the garden. “Is aught amiss?” she asked, gazing up at the comfortable bulk of the beguine. She could never tell what went on behind Clara’s calm façade, her soft brown eyes gazing on the world with benevolence. Was she worried? Angry? Bored? Who could tell?

“Were you in the room when Nan and Sister Agnes changed the bedding?” Clara asked with a note of worry. Ah, but she had less control over her voice.

“No. But I found no fault with their work.”

“Mein Gott.” It was as close to a cry of concern as Eleanor had ever heard from Clara. “Did you move Sister Dina’s dagger? Perhaps you did not wish them to see it? I cannot find it. I’ve searched the room, the kitchen.”

“A dagger? Sister Dina keeps a dagger in her bedchamber?” Dame Eleanor set aside her work and rose. “What is a beguine doing with a weapon?”

“Protecting herself. She slept with it beneath her pillow. I might have thought it merely ornamental, a keepsake, but the blade is long and sharp. Holy Mary Mother of God. Sister Dina carries a burden of such fear. I’ve asked Nan whether she or Sister Agnes moved the dagger, but she swears they took nothing away.”

Remembering the blood, and that it was not Dina’s, Eleanor crossed herself and prayed for guidance as she followed Clara into the small bedchamber. Merciful Mother, it is clear that I do not know Sister Dina at all, yet I felt called to her way of life, drawn by the grace I beheld in her. Was I wrong? Did I mistake grace for cunning? The bedchamber was sparsely furnished, and such a small space it offered little opportunity to hide an ornate dagger. Dina’s traveling chest was in Sisters Brigida’s and Clara’s bedchamber. They had insisted that she not take it out to the kitchen. “It is gone, then.” Eleanor wrinkled her nose at the damp smell.

“Perhaps Sister Dina dropped it when she ran. I imagine she ran.” As Clara raised her head she dashed away tears. “Now Sister Dina’s terrible burden might never be purged from her heart.”

Eleanor drew Clara into her arms, shushing her as she had done her children when they were distraught.

“What happened here last night?” Clara sobbed. “What happened to gentle Dina?”

“Hush, now, hush,” Eleanor spoke softly. Though her head was abuzz, she stayed quiet, letting Clara work through her grief for her friend. Only when, with one last sob, Clara pulled away and dabbed her eyes did Eleanor lay out her plan to have Griffin sleep in the kitchen until they felt safe.

Clara gave an emphatic nod. “Bless you, Dame Eleanor. He is a reassuring presence. It seems I was hasty insisting that no men bide on this property.”

It gave Eleanor, who had advised against the ban, no pleasure to be proved correct in such wise. “Perhaps you might search for the dagger between here and the church,” she said. “Take along my maidservant. I think it best we go nowhere without a companion for the nonce.”

“Of course,” said Clara. “Yes. As we did in Strasbourg. Yes, that would be best.” The beguine moved toward the doorway as if in a dream, almost stepping on the feet of Agnes’s servant, Nan, as she entered the kitchen. “Oh, Nan! Are you rested?”

A little nod. “Master Lionel Neville is in the hall, Dame Eleanor, and asked to speak with you.”

The loathsome Lionel. God help us. Katherine’s late husband’s younger brother was greedy, grasping, scheming, and but half the man his brother was – or Katherine, for that matter. “What does he want?”

“He is concerned about a rumor that there was trouble here last night.”

He is, is he? “Offer him some ale. Nothing better. If he asks, say, sweetly, ‘Poor sisters,’ and smile. You know how.” You smile at all the men.

“Yes, mistress.”

As Nan turned to do as she was bid, Sister Clara called out, “Wait. Tell Sister Agnes I wish to speak with her.”

Nan glanced back. “But what about–”

“Now,” Sister Clara ordered in such a voice Nan skittered away.

Eleanor raised a brow in silent query.

“I see that his visit worries you, Dame Eleanor. If we have brought trouble to you or your daughter, I would know at once. I pray you, question her. You must know what this is about.” Her face brightened with a surprising smile. “I confess, Nan tests me. I offer up my aggravation for the benefit of all souls.”

“Dame Eleanor? Sister Clara?” Agnes stood in the doorway, her face shiny with sweat on her forehead and upper lip. The day had grown warm, and she had been scrubbing, though from the creases in her gown it was clear she had indeed been resting awhile.

“Lionel Neville is taking his ease in the hall,” said Eleanor. “I state the obvious. You know this. You have perhaps exchanged some pleasantries as you passed through in coming here?”

“I did wish him a good morning and ask his business.”

“His answer?”

“That he had come to speak with you about the trouble here last night.”

“I wonder why he is so solicitous?” Why would Lionel Neville’s ears prick up at news of this particular dwelling? Eleanor searched her memory for what she had heard about him. He lived for the day that Katherine remarried so that he might take possession of his brother’s business, but what had that–? Ah, he was known as a niggardly landlord. “Unless he is concerned about possible damage to his property?”

A crease of her sweaty brow. My, my, how the white wimple and veil accentuated Agnes’s high color.

“His property, Dame Eleanor? I don’t understand.”

“Don’t lie to me, Agnes. Am I correct in guessing that he owns this house? Why else would he be so concerned about what happened last night?”

Agnes gave the subtlest of nods, as if hoping she might be obedient without incriminating herself. “He is a kind man.”

Eleanor gave a bitter laugh. “Lionel Neville kind? There is not a soul in York who would count him so. You have no talent for lying, Agnes. You were wise to choose silence instead.” The woman’s face had turned an unhealthy crimson. “Oh, for pity’s sake, you cannot be surprised by my disappointment. Had you thought I would be pleased to know he owned this house you would have told me.”

“I meant to tell you, I did. But he asked that I say nothing. He said that the best gifts are those we give without any wish for recognition. It matters only that God knows, it is enough. So I thought … I did not think you would be angry.”

“Had you any sense in that head of yours you would understand why I am. Lionel Neville is – no, I waste my breath.”

God help her, she had rushed right into Lionel Neville’s trap. That business with his brother’s will. The man would do anything to push Katherine into the arms of a suitor, always spying on her, looking for an opportunity to trip her up. Or so said young Petra, and Eleanor had learned to trust her granddaughter’s confidences. Eleanor closed her eyes and took a breath. Katherine would never believe she had not known she was leasing the house from Lionel. Nor would she forgive. All Eleanor’s hopes of reconciliation dashed by her own heedless haste.

“I will go to him,” she said.

“Shall I come, Dame Eleanor?” asked Clara.

“No. Take my servant Rose and look for the dagger. No, take Sister Agnes. She could use some fresh air. And, Agnes, as this is not your house, I am at liberty to cast you out. If there is anything more I should know, it is best to tell me now.”

Tears welled in the woman’s eyes as she reached out in supplication. “Dame Eleanor, I beseech you …”

“Obey her and you’ve nothing to fear,” Sister Clara said.

Agnes shook her head. “There is nothing more.”

“Good.” Sister Clara took the woman by the arm. “Come, we have work to do.” With a nod to Eleanor, Clara led Agnes out into the garden.

Squaring her shoulders, Eleanor swept out of the bedchamber, through the kitchen, and across the garden, not pausing until she’d taken a few steps into the hall. Lionel had not yet noticed her. Well dressed and tall, Lionel Neville might have been handsome had he possessed any admirable qualities. But there was a pinched quality to his face and a guardedness in his bearing that suggested petulance and defensiveness – quite accurate signs, which might be considered advance warning to those who must endure his presence. At the moment he was leaning toward the altar as if assessing the value of the embroidered cloth, the statues, crucifix, and candle holders.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” she said.

He straightened abruptly. “Dame Eleanor. I did not hear you enter.”

“I noticed. We are a quiet household.” She bestowed on him her most gracious smile and suggested they sit by the window, where there was a slight breeze. “A gift on such a warm day.” Fussing with her skirt, she schooled herself to silence on the matter of the house. She would consult with Katherine before confronting him about it. “You wished to speak to me?”

“I came out of concern for your welfare and that of your household of women. There is talk of an incident here last night? One of your poor sisters attacked?”

“Attacked? Oh, dear me, no. No, Master Lionel. Oh dear, how shall I put it. Sister Dina had a dreadful dream, and paired with …” She glanced away as she cleared her throat. “… her monthly courses …” A shrug. “I fear she is excitable in that way.”

He had colored slightly and now averted his eyes in embarrassment. “I am sorry for her suffering, but relieved to hear the cause, that there was no assault or intrusion.” He rose. “I pray you, Dame Eleanor, if there is ever anything you might need, be assured you have a friend in me.”

And why would I be such a fool as to believe that? Eleanor growled inwardly. But she smiled as she rose to escort him to the door. “You are most kind. At present Sister Dina is being cared for by the poor sisters at the maison dieu. I trust there will be no more trouble.”

As Lionel ducked out the door and strode round to the alleyway, he glanced back at her with a frown. Wondering whether he had been deceived? Eleanor smiled and nodded to him, then closed the door.